


Lost in the supermarket (or how to survive Christmas)

by eretria



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, impromptu cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/pseuds/eretria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way to Cobb's Christmas party at the family cabin, Arthur, Eames, Ariadne and Yusuf get stuck in a snowstorm. Isn't it lucky they strand at a Supermarket?<br/>A story in which Arthur gets ready to kill Eames, Yusuf is exasperated, Ariadne is amused (and sings), Eames wears a terrible hat (and sings as well), Cobb is flummoxed, Phillippa and James are excited and Saito might just be an unorthodox Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in the supermarket (or how to survive Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auburnnothenna (auburn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/gifts), [murron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/gifts).



> I started writing this story in 2010. Yes, that's right. I'm a real fast writer, non?  
> And, honestly, if it hadn't been for my wonderful beta-readers and exceptional friends, Murron and Auburn, it likely still wouldn't be finished.
> 
> But luckily, I have them, and they were willing to work overtime even though it was Christmas. Thank you both. This story is for the both of you.

_Driving Home For Christmas_  


Yusuf got in the car with a sound of utter disgust on his lips. Clumps of wet snow slipped form his boots. "Tell me again why I left Mombasa for this?"

"Because Cobb invited us and Arthur would have hunted you down if you had said no?" Eames said, a vague weariness in his voice that indicated he'd had this conversation before.

"Oh. Right." Yusuf glowered at the swirling snow outside the car's window. "I'm starting to think that maybe that would have been better than flying into Flint, Michigan in the dead of winter. Is it always this bloody cold here?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Yusuf, you're a wuss. It's not even under 30 degrees Fahrenheit outside. That's positively cosy."

Yusuf threw her a dirty look. "Insane. All of you. I want coffee."

Ariadne smiled and tapped a thermos flask with her still gloved hand. "No food before we're at least half an hour into the drive, kids."

"Dictator."

"Dictatress," she corrected him with a grin.

"Where is Arthur, anyway?" Yusuf asked.

"Getting the papers for this car," Eames said. "Knowing him, he'll want every single scratch on it documented. It's going take a while."

"Remind me again why we have to drive the rest of the way?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Because Hanley Field is just a grass runway that's been closed since November and Sawyer International closed down due to a snowstorm warning. Yusuf, we've been over this."

"And why are we driving into a snowstorm?"

"It's not a snowstorm yet where Cobb is staying, and besides, whatever you might think, this is a civilised country and we have things like snow-plows. Just because planes can't take-off or land doesn't mean cars can't move."

Yusuf flopped back into his seat, obviously trying to settle and accept his fate. He was quiet for a while, then a shiver went through his frame and he said, "Can't you start the motor?"

Eames' raised eyebrow disappeared beneath the hem of his bright orange-and-brown patterned trapper hat. Earlier, Ariadne had already made a mental note to ask him where he got it. It was hideous in an _awesome_ way. The pom at the top of it bobbed disapprovingly at Yusuf. "What, the current climate change not enough for you?"

"I'm freezing my bloody arse off here!"

"I'm sure Ariadne can warm you up," Eames grinned. Ariadne resisted the urge to whack him across the back of his head.

"Have you seen her?" Yusuf asked, incredulous. "Skinny as she is, she's walking hypothermia waiting to happen."

"You just put yourself on coffee probation," Ariadne said with a saccharine smile. Contrary to popular belief, she didn't get cold easily and actually liked the harsh winters up north.

Yusuf dropped his head to his hands. "I'm too jet-lagged for this. Turn on the radio at least."

Eames indulged him and bent forward, fiddled a while, then leaned back in his seat. "Who wants to go and tell Arthur that he should add a non-functioning radio to his list?"

Yusuf shot forward from the backseat. "Don't you dare. He'll take another half hour if you do. Who needs the radio, anyway?"

"Yes, who needs a radio on a six hour drive?" Eames commented, sarcasm dripping from his words. After a moment's thought, he perked up, though and grinned wolfishly into the rear-view mirror to meet Ariadne's eyes without having to turn around in his bulky coat. "Of course, we could make Arthur sing."

Ariadne fought a grin. "He'll kill you."

"He can sing, trust me."

"He'll kill you, Eames," she repeated, even if she had to admit that the image of Arthur singing held a certain appeal.

"Nah. He'd miss me too much." Eames' smile was beatific.

"Slowly. With blunt instruments," Yusuf agreed.

"Twenty quid says he doesn't."

Yusuf gave a choked snort. "I'm not betting with you!"

"Oh, come on, Yusuf. Don't you trust me?"

Yusuf's snort was eloquent.

"Looks like he's finally learning," Eames said. "Which is a good thing, considering what happened last time --"

"We agreed never to talk about that!" Yusuf snapped.

Ariadne turned to him, eyebrow raised. Interesting.

"Did we?" Eames asked, all feigned innocence.

"I paid you not to talk about it!" There was not a small amount of despair in Yusuf's voice now.

"How much did he pay you?" Ariadne asked Eames. "I'll add another fifty if you tell me."

"Hm." Eames rubbed his chin, making the stubble rasp against his thick gloves. "Tempting."

***

"All right," Arthur said as he slid behind the wheel. "Battle lost. This is the last car they have and no well-placed mention of bribery got us anything else."

"You were trying to get another car all this time?" Ariadne asked, her eyebrows climbing.

"The gas mileage on this one sucks, it has no snow chains, no tires fit for winter and the radio is broken," Arthur listed. Then he turned around and squinted at her. "What did you think I was doing in there all this time, reporting scratches?"

Ariadne felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "I. Ah. No?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Yusuf smirked. Ariadne stuck out her tongue at him and tucked the thermos between her and the door, as far out of his reach as possible.

"So, are we _Driving Home for Christmas_ , then?" Eames rubbed his hands. "Let's go!"

Arthur turned his head in Eames' direction. "Just so we're clear. Driver calls the shots. Shotgun-"

"Shuts his cakehole," Eames finished in a long-suffering tone. "Though, really. It's an odd phrase, don't you think? What if the shotgun doesn't _like_ cake?"

Arthur blinked at him a few times, then he slowly pushed the key into the ignition. The car started with a rumbling cough.

"I've always wanted a personal driver," Eames said. "Though, really, Arthur would look so much better in one of those charming uniforms, don't you think?" Eames' pom bobbed jauntily.

Ariadne grinned at the mental picture, saw Arthur's eyes on her in the rearview mirror and lowered her chin, hiding the grin in her scarf.

"Shotgun does what, Eames?"

"Annoy the driver?"

They rolled out of the parking lot to the soundtrack of Eames and Arthur bickering.

***

_White Christmas_  


It was a testament to Ariadne's only recent foray into the world of dreamsharing and Yusuf's refusal to go under more than a few times a month that they fell asleep shortly after the car started moving. Arthur hadn't been able to nod off this quickly in years.

They'd slid in the middle of the backseat earlier, complaining about the draft from the door and the lack of proper warmth until Eames - Eames! - had finally snapped a sharp, "Well, cuddle, then!"

Arthur looked in the rear-view mirror and bit back on a smile. Ariadne had her head on Yusuf's shoulder; Yusuf's head rested against hers in a tangle of brown and black hair.

Eames caught his smile, turned around and huffed a laugh. "Rather charming. Why don't you and me sit in the backseat for a while?"

Arthur just rolled his eyes. Again. One of these days they were going to get stuck. Maybe Eames would stop hitting on him then.

***

They were about ninety minutes into the drive when the first snow-flakes started to fall. Traffic was heavy; everyone wanted to get home to their families and loved ones before Christmas day. It was times like these that Arthur regretted not having any family left. His past Christmases had been spent with Cobb - with and without his family -- though and that had become as close to family as Arthur got.

Christmases with Mal had been fantastic. She had insisted on celebrating on both days, Christmas eve and Christmas day, to honour both the European and the American tradition. It had generally resulted in a classy Christmas Eve and a chaotic, sock-and-pyjama-clad Christmas morning with paper flying all around the room and the children playing with their new toys in delight. 

Arthur remembered both Phillippa's and James' first Christmases. Both their first rocking horses had been his presents to them. He smiled at the memory of James' blond hair flying all around his little head in the breeze of his wild rocking. Phillippa had been more graceful, but no less wild. He thought of the presents waiting in the trunk of the car and couldn't wait to see their faces when they unpacked them. 

James was three, almost four now. Phillippa was turning seven. She looked more like her mother each time Arthur saw her. She had Mal's temper as well. 

Before Christmases with the Cobbs, Arthur had never been sentimental, but ever since those kids, he'd become a hopeless sap. Sometimes a sap bordering on homicidal, but a sap nevertheless. He was hoping to disguise it as much as possible so Eames wouldn't find out. The homicidal part would be enough, if something absolutely had to be discovered.

Speak of the devil ... "How are we doing for petrol?" Eames asked.

"Tank's half-full," Arthur answered.

"Didn't take you for the glass half-full type."

"That's because it generally isn't."

"Such a pessimist. How do you get through life?"

"With planning and tenacity and the help of my exceptional good looks."

Eames' eyebrows shot up and he turned to Arthur with a snort of laughter. "Darling!"

"Are we there yet?" A sleepy, female voice asked.

Arthur clenched his teeth. Their sleeping had been cute. Until Ariadne woke up with _that_ question on her lips.

"No."

"But it's almost dark." Yusuf now said. "And, wow, it's really coming down out there. How much longer is it?"

"It takes however long it takes," Arthur said in a light tone of voice, slowly curling his fingers around the steering wheel.

Eames grinned. "Very zen, our Arthur."

Arthur clenched his teeth even harder and clasped the stirring wheel tighter.

"Can we stop somewhere?" Yusuf piped up as well now. "I need to pee."

"Again?" Eames asked, incredulous. "Didn't we just stop for you before you fell asleep?"

"That was Ariadne!"

Eames shook his head. "I swear, between the two of you, we'll never get there. Do tiny people always have tiny bladders?"

Arthur bit back on a grin as he saw Yusuf bristle in the rear view mirror. "I'm not tiny."

Eames opened his mouth, but Arthur butted in before Eames could voice what surely would be something not fit for Ariadne's ears. "We have a lady on board."

Eames blinked at him for a moment, then gave a low and dirty laugh. "A lady? You have talked to her before, haven't you?"

From the rearview mirror, Ariadne's eyes twinkled. "Go ahead and make your penis joke, Eames." She rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder and said, "It's sweet of you to want to protect my virtue, but I did have two brothers. I doubt there's anything Eames could throw at me that I haven't heard before."

"Don't tempt him."

Eames pouted.

"Can we have that potty break now?"

"Yusuf, I swear -- "

"What, would you rather have me pee in the car?"

"Okay, that?" Ariadne said, "Was gross. Arthur, pull over at the next stop."

Arthur frowned. "I'm not your chauffeur."

"But you're driving, right? So pull over unless you want this car to -- "

Arthur fought the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. "No need to elaborate!"

Eames leaned over to him and asked in a stage whisper, "Aren't you glad you decided to drive?"

Arthur shot him a death glare. "Shut up, Eames."

"But why, lovely, when your buttons are so deliciously pushable?"

That wasn't even a word. Pushable. Arthur set his jaw and decided to resist the urge to throttle Eames. He studiously ignored him for the next ten minutes.

Until... "Hey, didn't the GPS say to take the next exit?" 

"Yes," Arthur answered, slowly, noticing that the GPS was still stuck at the last setting and hadn't moved since then, "and I am."

"Yeah, but there are two forks, which one does stupid Paula here say to take? Left? Right?"

"We'll figure it out when we get there, Eames."

"We're almost there, though. Left? Right?" 

Yusuf leaned forward, his head a dark shade to Arthur's right. "Why isn't the stupid thing working?"

"It's not working?" Ariadne echoed. "How the hell are we supposed to find out which way to go?"

"Did you guys grow up in the 25th century?" Arthur asked, annoyance bubbling up. "Do you remember common sense and maps?"

"Do you have any?"

"Ah," Arthur said. Damn. He hadn't really planned on divulging that he packed the wrong map in his haste. "Plenty of common sense."

"I see. Bringing us back to, how the hell are we supposed to know where to go?"

"Well, try to get it to work if you don't trust his driving," Eames said.

"Give it -- "

"Not while I'm driving, besides, you're a chemist, not a tech-whiz, so -- "

"Stop squabbling, you two --"

"Arthur!"

"Give it -- "

"Arthur!"

"Not -- "

" _You're going to hit the divider!_ "

Arthur slammed on the brakes, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. Through the eddying snow, it was hard to see anything in front of him. The wheels blocked, the car skidded on the snow, closer and closer and much too fast. Arthur tried in vain to counter-act physics but all that got him was a stomach-dropping slide toward the almost completely snow-covered divider. Closer and closer still. To his right, Eames reached for the handle above the door and hid his face in his arms, already anticipating an impact.

No, damn it. No. Not the day before Christmas, not in the middle of nowhere, this was just not happening. Arthur managed to turn the car away from the divider once more, it slowed in increments but still slid over the snow as though skating on pure ice with fur-soled shoes. The divider was getting closer again and they were still too damn fast.

Another circle-slide, one more moment of panic, then they bumped into the divider. Hard. Hard enough to make Arthur hit his head against the wheel but not hard enough to wreck the car.

Heart hammering against his chest, Arthur stared at the windshield-wipers working overtime for a few long seconds.

Finally, he expelled a long breath, unclenched his hands from the wheel and turned around. "All three of you will shut the hell up until we reach the next rest stop, or you can walk the rest of the way."

***

Arthur finally decided to admit defeat after they almost landed in a ditch for the fourth time. His muscles were shaking by now and he couldn't remember when driving had last exhausted him so much.

While Arthur slammed the gear in reverse, Ariadne leaned forward and murmured an urgent, "Arthur, I know how much you want to get there on time, but we're going to have to either find a motel for the night or find a place that sells snow-chains somewhere. We can't go on like this."

Arthur shook his head. "We promised Cobb we'd be there in time for Christmas breakfast. He counts on us."

"On us or on you?"

Arthur set his jaw and didn't answer. Damn her for putting her finger right on the wound. 

"Since he invited us all, I'd say he expects us all to be there," Eames said.

Eames to the rescue? That was unusual. Arthur wondered how much he'd have to pay in teasing for this unexpected kindness later.

"Fine," Arthur agreed. "Snow chains it is. After they're on, somebody else drives. We'll take turns driving. That way we'll make it there late, but we'll make it."

Ariadne made an unhappy noise.

"What?"

"They, ah ..." she looked at her phone, then back at Arthur in the rear-view mirror, her eyebrows knit. "They closed the freeways in the UP. The plows can't get through. I think the motel is looking more and more like our -- "

"No. We'll try. The UP is big, and Cobb's rented cabin isn't that far up. We might get lucky."

Eames not making the obvious pun was just as surprising as the earlier help, but Arthur decided to worry about it later. "I saw a sign for a supermarket about half a mile ago."

"Meijers," Ariadne agreed. "They should have snow chains unless everything is sold out."

"And if they're out, we can still ask them for the nearest motel," Arthur conceded, deciding to give her a peace offering.

"Excellent, the children have stopped fighting!" Eames rubbed his hands. "Shall we go _Dashing Through The Snow_ , then?"

Ariadne chuckled. Yusuf starting humming an annoyingly off-tune version of _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and Arthur decided he hated them for putting the song in his head on top of everything else.

Despite his best efforts, he missed the exit to the parking lot three times, unable to see through the snow that was falling heavier by the minute. Ariadne had fallen back asleep when he finally pulled into the parking lot.

Just a few lamps illuminated the lot. It was difficult to drive through the drifts of fresh snow where no one had plowed anything. Arthur was glad to know he could hand over the wheel after this stop.

Only… The parking lot was mostly deserted. If that wasn't a sign of the apocalypse, the day before Christmas, Arthur didn't know what would be.

He had the niggling suspicion that the roads were closed here already and that thanks to their broken radio, they were the only poor schmucks stupid enough to still be out in the snow. But no. No. Ariadne had said they'd closed the roads up north, and they weren't up north yet, right? He was going to cling to that hope and he was going to make it to the damn cabin, weather be damned. He'd been through worse, and most of the people born in a state that only knew how to spell winter usually made weather warnings sound worse than they really needed to be. They were going to be fine.

Eames looked through the windshield with his neck craned to see better. "Does anybody else expect Norman Bates to come out here anytime soon?"

"Let's just get our supplies and get going again," Arthur said.

***

In hindsight, it should have been a warning that the path leading up to the main entrance wasn't plowed. And it probably should have been even more of a warning that the speakers outside the supermarket were quiet. Finding the doors locked was the ultimate warning sign. Of course, it came too late.

As it was, Eames saw the red taillights of a car disappearing in the snowdrifts and sucked in a sharp breath. The last employee. The rats had left the sinking ship.

Eames padded over to where Arthur was trying to peer around the corner to the employee's entrance. "Anyone left?"

Arthur replied without concealing his gloom. "We'll have to find that hotel after all."

"Do you want to tell them or should I?"

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds, then straightened his back. "I'll do it. And you will go on driving."

"Naturally, dear."

Eames ignored Arthur flipping him off.

They trudged back to the car -- already rapidly disappearing under a blanket of white -- and Arthur reached for the driver's side door only to have Eames' catch at his arm. "Arthur."

"What?"

Eames pointed below the front end, where the engine's heat had melted snow away while they waited. Yusuf peered over Arthur's shoulder curiously.

There was a pool of rapidly freezing fluorescent green liquid oozing out from underneath the car. "Is that what I think it is?" Yusuf asked.

"Anti-freeze," Eames nodded. "We must have ruptured the radiator when we hit the divider."

"This means what?" Yusuf asked

"Unless we fix it, we won't make it three miles at a time before we have to refill it. Eventually, it's going to fry the motor, so…" Eames scratched underneath his scarf, "far be it from me to alarm anyone, but I think we're stranded."

"We can try to walk to a motel or hotel," Arthur said. A gust of wind slapped in him the face as if to mock even the idea. The parking lot lights went out, leaving them in an eerie almost darkness except for the car headlights reflecting off the snow.

"And be discovered as frozen corpsicles in a snow drift when spring melts everything," Eames remarked agreeably. "Tis the season."

Arthur glared. "You have a better suggestion?"

"Than freezing in our rental car?" Eames gestured back to the supermarket. "Yes. All the comforts of home."

Ariadne straightened, pulled her gloves back on and said, "Eames is right. I mean, thank god we're stranded at a supermarket." She clapped her hands together. "It could be worse, right?" 

"Don't jinx it!" Yusuf called, horrified.

"Too late," Arthur mumbled into his scarf.

"What?" Yusuf and Ariadne chorused.

Arthur straightened his back once more, as though bracing for a temper tantrum. "Looks like the supermarket's deserted. The last employee just left. We only caught sight of the taillights."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Break it to them gently, why don't you?"

"So we're stuck out here in the parking lot? In this weather?"

"Of course we're not," Eames said.

"But if the last employee has left, then everything will be locked!" Ariadne said.

"Oh, will it?"

Eames took of his gloved and cracked his knuckles.

"I never thought I'd say this, Eames, but I'm glad you're a thief."

"Darling, you say the sweetest things.

The door was open within seconds.

***

***

Arthur wasn't surprised at all when Ariadne's hand on the light switches garnered them no light. The wind picking up outside had no doubt brought down power lines already. Which explained the surreal silence that pricked at his nerves: the supermarket felt more than just deserted because the subliminally comforting drone of the refrigeration units and hum of overhead fluorescent bulbs were both missing.

"Well, I hate to break it to you," Ariadne said, "but it looks like we're out of juice."

"Emergency generator?"

"It's a supermarket, Arthur, not a hospital," Yusuf said with an eyeroll.

Arthur burrowed into his scarf, looking miserable in the bright white glow of the flashlight Yusuf shone at him. "Well," he mumbled, his words muffled by the sensible dark red scarf, "at least we have supplies."

"Out of milk, eggs and bread, though," Eames commented from across the aisle.

"The entire thing?" Yusuf asked. "Bloody hell."

"No waffles, either," Ariadne piped up from the shelf she was crouched next to.

"Plenty of ice-cream, though, if anyone fancies some," Eames called from what sounded like the other side of the building. "Almond brittle. Double chocolate chip cookie dough. Fantastic!"

Ariadne came back to Yusuf and Arthur just as Eames stopped talking. Arthur just shivered some more. "Has anyone found anything _useful_?"

"Plenty of chips and salsa. And if you're into beef jerky …"

"Strawberry cream! Dark chocolate and sea-salt-"

"Eames!" Arthur thundered. "Get back here."

"You're just no -- " A pause, a clattering noise, then, "Oh. Oops."

"What?" Arthur snapped, an admirable feat considering that he was yelling halfway across a giant supermarket.

"Well, let's put it this way…" Another pause, then Eames voice carried through the high ceilinged room: " _I'm all lost in the supermarket, I can no longer shop I believe._ "

The flashlight wavered on Arthur, because Yusuf was barely holding it together.

***

_Rocking Around the Christmas Tree_  


"Well, we do have to keep warm, right?" Yusuf asked.

"Of course we do, unless you literally want to 'freeze your bloody arse off'," Arthur answered. His voice was still muffled by the scarf, which made the biting tone softer by default.

"Excellent," Yusuf said, rubbing his gloved hands. "Eames! Ariadne! Bring the trolleys!"

"Wait, wait a moment." Arthur pushed down the scarf a little. "What?"

A loud screeching and rattling saved Yusuf from the answer when Eames and Ariadne arrived, each pushing two shopping trolleys. "He agreed to it?" Ariadne asked in a tone that hurt Yusuf's pride.

"Please," he said, letting aloofness colour his words, "all you need to do is reason with him. You'd be surprised by how far that gets you."

"Hello?" Arthur said.

"Oh, don't tell me you just asked him and he said yes?" Eames asked, similar incredulousness in his voice.

"Of course not." He paused for effect and pulled his hat down over his ears. "He said 'of course'," Yusuf beamed at them.

"Would anybody mind telling me what I agreed to?" Arthur asked, and Yusuf was surprised to hear that he sounded vaguely good-natured about the whole thing. Or at least not actively pissed off. Huh. The things a little cold did to a person.

Ariadne was the first to shake herself from her surprised stupor. She separated the two trolleys, pushed one at Arthur and said, with a winning smile, "Aisle slalom race."

Arthur's eyebrows disappeared under his black knit cap. "You're not serious."

"Deadly."

"You want to race shopping carts around supermarket aisles."

"Yes."

"Shopping carts." Arthur's tone was flat and he sounded as though he doubted their mental state.

"Well, trolleys."

"Carts."

Yusuf rolled his eyes. "Potayto, potahto."

"You want to race shopping carts through a pitch-black supermarket."

Eames separated his two trolleys and pushed one in Yusuf's direction. "We've got torches!" He produced zip-ties and small torches and bent down to remove his thick gloves with his teeth, then got to work to attach the torch to the front of the trolleys.

"Shopping carts with headlights. And you want to race them. Through supermarket aisles. What are you, five?"

"Oh, come on, Arthur, don't tell me you never wanted to do that?" Ariadne said, stomping her feet against the cold.

Eames finished attaching the torches and turned around. To Ariadne he said, "I told you he'd never agree to it. Looks like Mr. Stick-up-his-arse was never young. Definitely not young at heart."

Arthur's eyebrows lowered, met over his nose. Yusuf held his breath. He gave the whole thing an internal countdown. Five, four, three, two --

"Give me that," Arthur snapped at Eames. "You're doing this too sloppily."

To Yusuf's great amusement, Arthur attached the remaining three torches to the fronts of the trolleys in record-time. When he was done, Arthur put his gloves back on. He looked from Yusuf to Ariadne to Eames, then clenched his hands around the trolley's handle. "First one back here gets the first hot drink!"

With that, he was off with screeching wheels.

Yusuf lost the first round because he was too busy laughing his arse off at Eames' and Ariadne's faces as they listened to Arthur's whoops as he raced around the corners.

***

_It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year_  


"Well, guys, I'm don't know about you but I'm pretty hungry," Eames said, still out of breath after the third round of their little race.

"Starving," Ariadne agreed.

Arthur nodded slowly. He was still delightfully pink-cheeked from the run. "It would make sense to eat something. If only to make sure we conserve body heat."

"There speaks the real gourmet."

"I'm not sure a deserted supermarket in the middle of nowhere with no electricity is the right place to think about culinary experiments, Eames," Arthur said.

"Good thing we got stranded here and not at JoAnn's," Ariadne remarked. "That would have been awkward."

Eames grinned. "You could have knitted us hats, dear."

Ariadne stuck her tongue out at him. "Shut up, Eames."

"Knock it off, you two, and let's take stock," Arthur said. "What do we have?"

Eames looked around. "I think the better question would be, what don't we have?"

Arthur gave a long-suffering sigh but conceded. "Well, as we found out earlier, we're out of bread, milk and eggs."

"And waffles!" Ariadne said.

"And waffles," Arthur repeated with another sigh. "In other words, we have pretty much the whole range of cans and frozen foods with the only problem being that we can't heat any of it."

"We could always eat dry ramen."

Eames shuddered and threw Ariadne a look of disgust. "There's a reason I'm no longer a student, you know?"

"Cold ravioli in tomato sauce from the can?"

Eames covered his ears with both hands. "You Americans truly are barbarians, aren't you?" He looked to Arthur for help. "Arthur, make her stop."

"I'm rather enjoying your discomfort right now, Eames," Arthur replied with a wide smirk.

Oh, that hurt. "Bastard," Eames muttered. "And Yusuf isn't around to help. Typical."

"Yeah, where _is_ Yusuf, anyway?" Ariadne asked. "All lost in the supermarket as well?"

Yusuf's bright red jacket appeared from an aisle close to the frozen section. "Would you like to thank me now or save up and do it later?" he called toward them. His voice carried in the empty aisles and echoed when the soundwaves hit the ceiling.

"Thank you for what?"

"Well, mainly for being all-round wonderful, but at this moment, for providing you with a hot meal."

Arthur pushed past Eames and started to jog toward Yusuf. Ariadne sprinted after him, leaving Eames to grudgingly follow the stroboscopic up-and-down of their torches.

"Does that mean you found an emergency generator after all?" Arthur was just asking when Eames arrived.

"Better," Yusuf said with a wide smile. "I found the kitchen."

And he had. This supermarket apparently had a deli section which boasted a small test kitchen … with a gas stove.

"You're a star, Yusuf!" Ariadne said and planted a smacking kiss on Yusuf's cheek before running off with a delighted, "Who wants Mac-and-Cheese?"

Eames shuddered again. "I think I'll better go and check on her before she poisons us all."

"See if you can find some water while you're at it."

"And what will you do?"

Arthur put on his best poker face. "You'll find out, won't you?"

***

Ariadne didn't bring Macaroni and cheese after all. She came back from her forage with a couple of cans of chili, three large bags of tortilla chips, two jars of salsa and several bars of fair trade chocolate.

While she'd been on her little run, Yusuf had lit every burner on the stove. His fingers were beginning to thaw out. The bluish light from the gas burners gave Ariadne's and Arthur's faces a sickly pallor. 

Arthur had come back from his run with booty from the fruit section and had already started to peel the oranges and bananas. Yusuf had also seen fresh berries as well as powdered milk and cocoa.

The latter two were a bit of a puzzle until Eames returned – after a suspiciously long time -- with only a water bottle and a tin of cranberry sauce in his hands.

Yusuf raised his eyebrows at Eames who just shrugged in return and went about to find cutlery and plastic cups.

Arthur disappeared from sight for a few moments, then reappeared with a tin opened and a whisk.

"I… I'm not sure we need a whisk for the chili, Arthur," Ariadne said carefully.

"Not for the chili, no," Arthur agreed but offered nothing else.

Yusuf frowned, craned his neck to see what Arthur was up to but was soon distracted by Ariadne's inability to open the tins with her cold hands. He took both the opener and the tins from her and received another kiss on his cheek for his troubles. He had to admit, this Christmas could have been worse. It certainly could have been better, too, but on the scale of kisses received, this one ranked pretty high.

"Darling, are you doing what I think you're doing?" Yusuf heard Eames' voice accompanied by the sound of furious whisking in a metal saucepan and turned around to find Arthur whisking water from the gallon-sized container into a powdery substance. Arthur sneezed when a puff of the powder reached his nose.

"Bless you."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean, seriously, bless you, Arthur." Eames looked suspiciously like he had hearts in his eyes. Which could only mean two things: Eames was ribbing Arthur once again, or he actually, truly meant it.

"Stuff it, Eames," Arthur mumbled into his scarf but Yusuf saw a blush creep up his cheeks.

"I will not," Eames said and waved Yusuf and Ariadne closer. "Do you know what Arthur's doing here?"

"You mean besides making a mess?"

Yusuf sniggered together with Ariadne.

"Quiet, you heretics. You are about to be the recipients of Arthur's signature hot chocolate. The recipe has been in the family for centuries and he has killed several people who have read it."

Yusuf began to roll his eyes, then had to admit, though, that, knowing Arthur, this wasn't even unlikely.

Arthur stopped whisking for a few seconds, reached out to whack Eames so his ghastly pom-decorated trapper hat shifted on his head and then continued whisking calmly. "Thank you, Eames. Before anyone asks, no, the recipe hasn't been in the family for centuries, but yes, I do make a mean hot chocolate."

Yusuf noted that he didn't deny the killing people over the recipe bit and decided that maybe it was safer to open more chili tins and heat them. At least that way, he wouldn't watch Arthur make his hot chocolate and might live to see the morning.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Eames suddenly asked and Yusuf looked toward Ariadne, who was biting her lower lip in a suspicious manner.

Ariadne heaved a big sigh and swiped at her eyes. "Nothing."

"Uh-huh." Eames nudged her with his hip.

Another sigh. A look up toward the ceiling. Then Ariadne said, "You know how certain scents bring back memories?"

"One of the strongest trigger responses, yeah," Eames acknowledged.

"Well, my family always makes hot chocolate for the kids on Christmas Eve. I think it started out as a way to get us to calm down and sleep the night before Christmas, but it became a ritual, you know?" She breathed in deep and Yusuf felt an answering twinge under his heart. He remembered his mother's spiced rice and how certain smells reminded him of her in odd moments.

"Arthur's hot chocolate…" She took another deep breath. "Well, let's just say that it's just hitting me how far away from home I am and how much it sucks that we're stuck in a deserted supermarket on Christmas Eve."

Arthur's whisking had become less vigorous and Yusuf saw Eames look toward him and nod. Yusuf had a feeling that anything that Arthur and Eames agreed and teamed up on could only be either a disaster or ingenious. He hoped for the latter.

"It sucks, yeah," Arthur began and pulled the saucepan off the fire. "But Eames and me could tell you stories about Christmases we've had… you wouldn't believe how high this one ranks."

"At least no one is shooting at us."

"Or torturing us."

"Yeah, I wasn't overly fond of the fingernail-pulling."

"You forget about the stringing us up."

"Oh, and the bit where they were infecting us with Malaria in a damp, bug-infested prison in Burma, while — "

Yusuf gaped at both Arthur and Eames in horror for some too-long seconds, then he put his fingers in his ears.

"Do something, Ariadne. Make them stop before they ruin the entire evening!"

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he lip-read Ariadne's reply.

"Sing!" Yusuf demanded. "Sing loudly. Sing _now_!"

Arthur and Eames continued with their tales, muffled though they reached Yusuf's ears and Ariadne looked thoughtful for far too long for Yusuf's comfort levels.

Eventually, though, she took a deep breath and began a belting rendition of _Santa Baby_ that rose over Arthur's and Eames' voices. Ariadne had her eyes closed and her face turned toward the ceiling, looking for all the world like an overzealous cherub trying out for a place in the heavenly choir. If cherubs were really slight and wore thick, fur-lined jackets.

Yusuf carefully took his fingers out of his ears. All right, Ariadne was no Eartha Kitt, but she was doing a good enough job. Even Eartha Kitt would have had troubles hitting every note at the volume Ariadne was singing right now.

Yusuf glanced toward Arthur and Eames who both threw him dark glances and he noticed something he never had before: Arthur had a frightfully effective pout. He looked as though someone had taken his favourite tie away from him before a state dinner. Better not look at him for too long or Yusuf would ask Ariadne to stop after all.

Ariadne had just reached 'Think of all the fun I've missed, think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed' when Eames snorted. "Not our fault, sweetcheeks."

Ariadne's singing halted for a moment. She stuck her tongue out at Eames. "Didn't see you around much," she said saccharine sweet, then continued singing even louder than before.

Eames leaned closer to Arthur and stage-whispered, "I'm sure Arthur would have, if he hadn't been so busy. It's really not you, it's him."

Yusuf winced. Arthur flushed and shoved his elbow into Eames' side. Ariadne stopped singing again. She put her hands on her hips. Glared. Yusuf took an instinctive step back. Somehow, the temperature around him had dropped several degrees. "I heard that," Ariadne said.

"Did you now?" Eames asked. "So terribly s – "

Arthur buried his head in his hands for a few seconds. "Shut up and sing, Eames," Arthur hissed when he resurfaced.

Eames' pout was ruined by his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Mixed signal there, darling."

"Sing," Arthur said. His tone was a little desperate. "Just sing."

"Only if you join me."

"Santa Baby, I want a yacht," Arthur began, only to have Eames interrupt him with, "You can buy that yourself."

"Eames!" Yusuf, Ariadne and Arthur thundered in chorus.

"Been an angel all year!" Eames sang with a face like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Only horribly, horribly off-key.

"Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight," Ariadne, Arthur and Eames sang together.

Yusuf gaped at the horror for several pulse-beats. He had not thought it possible for three people with fairly lovely speaking voices to come together in such a ghastly choir when singing. Or maybe Eames was just laying it on thick, but the end result was the same: Yusuf would take fingernails on a blackboard over this. He _liked_ this song. He wasn't going to have it ruined forever.

Yusuf raised both hands and shouted over the three cacophonous voices, "Eames, Arthur, please, please, go back to the story about catching malaria in a Burmese prison on Boxing Day." For good measure, he added a desperate, "Please!"

Eames stopped with a pout that rivalled Arthur's but neither of them continued their story. Ariadne was looking a little lost but caught herself quickly, shrugged and finished the song. At a normal level, she had a lovely voice. The song drifted into the aisles of the supermarket where the echo of the final notes slowly dissipated.

Yusuf smiled at her. She looked much happier now, and thoroughly distracted from her earlier moment of sadness. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Eames fistbumping Arthur, congratulating him on a job well done.

Oh. _Oh_.

"So, dad, is dinner ready?" Eames asked before Yusuf could get feelings of a warmer and fuzzier kind than he normally directed at Eames and Arthur.

Yusuf resisted throwing the ladle at Eames. But only just.

***

_God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_  


Dinner finished, it became clear that the storm wasn't going to let up anytime soon. The temperature had dropped enough to make all of their noses give Rudolph a run for his money.

It was Ariadne who suggested raiding the household goods or the camping section and after some minor grumbling, they agreed. Air mattresses, throw blankets and pillows were chosen, reminding Arthur of an oriental harem -- one with a bizarre, hybrid camo and sports teams theme. He stopped his thoughts before he could get anymore creative mental images than he already had.

Per Arthur's suggestion, they sat up the mattresses close to the supermarket’s outside wall – strangely enough Eames agreed to the location without a fight or even a tease, piling sleeping bags and fleece blankets on them. The large mattress-covered space looked inviting, but Arthur couldn't help but think how inappropriate all of this was. It wasn't a life-threatening situation and didn't warrant this level of close quarters just yet.

Or maybe it did.

The temperature had dropped another few degrees and Arthur began shivering openly now. It was getting closer to midnight and the wind was still howling around the building. Realistically, Arthur knew that they didn't stand a chance to get out or to anywhere without help from the outside. Help that they couldn't call because the landlines were down and the mobile phones either had no reception (Yusuf and Ariadne) or no more juice (Eames and Arthur). They'd have to warm up to the thought of staying here a day at least.

So they might as well make themselves comfortable as possible.

"Man, it's cold," Ariadne exclaimed, blowing into her gloved hands. Not just her nose but her cheeks as well were red from the cold.

Arthur looked over to the pile of blankets, pillows, cushions and zipped-together sleeping bags. "You should go to bed. Catch some sleep. Stay warm." A hard shudder of cold ran through him.

Ariadne arched a brow when another shiver went through Arthur. "Physician, heal thyself." She threw a blanket at him, then crawled on the mattress and looked at him expectantly. When he didn't react, she rolled her eyes. "Staying warm will be easier if we're all together. The human body radiates 100 kilowatts of heat. Multiply that by four..."

Arthur frowned for a moment, considered inappropriateness versus frostbite and surprised himself by how quickly he made his decision. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

Arthur resisted the urge to flip her off.

"Get Yusuf and Eames, then. We wouldn't want to waste those extra kilowatts."

Ariadne mock-saluted. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Yusuf came slinking closer all on his own. He looked miserable. "The water in the loos isn't working."

Arthur blinked at him. Of course not: no electricity, no pumps, no running water. At least it hadn't been long enough for the sewage pipes to burst. He decided not to mention that. "That's … unfortunate." He raised his voice when he saw that Yusuf was about to elaborate. "And really the last I want to hear about the loos."

Yusuf pouted and climbed onto the mattress pile. His face visibly brightened when he pulled two of the blankets over himself. "Why didn't we think of this earlier? This is much better."

Arthur ignored him and declared that he had to go to the restroom as well. En route there, he decided to try his luck in the lady's restrooms. He didn't feel up to finding out whatever would be waiting for him in the men's room.

***

By the time Arthur came back (from a clean lady's room with functioning pipes, thank you very much, where he used bottled water for everything), Yusuf was still alone. There was a strange muted clicking noise filtering through the aisles.

"Where --" he started, then stopped.

"Turn around, love," Arthur heard Eames' voice behind him rise over a constant clicking noise suddenly. "Turn around and don't look back or you'll turn into a pillar of salt."

"Why, are you planning to burn the supermarket behind us?" Ariadne asked. She seemed to do as required, though, because Arthur saw her walk toward their makeshift bed. She hadn't been far away, just one aisle down, but that wasn't what made Arthur wrinkle his brows.

Uncharacteristically, Eames didn't answer Ariadne's joking question, and that? That made Arthur more paranoid than Fox Mulder on his worst days.

"Eames, _what_ are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," came Eames' cheery reply. "Be a dear, take Ariadne and sit down on the bed, hm?"

Arthur felt his hackles rise. "Eames, what – "

Eames' disembodied voice sighed. "I swear you will like it, just do as I ask." A pause. "It's Christmas Eve, all right? I have a wish. So, my wish is that you take Ariadne and get into bed and don't look my way before I tell you."

"I always knew you were a voyeur," Yusuf shouted happily from his blanket pile. "Didn't know you were an exhibitionist."

"Shut up, Yusuf," Eames shouted back just as cheerily. "Everyone knows I like to watch. Can't be a forger without it. And the exhibitionism comes with the job description."

Against his gut feeling, Arthur did not follow his instincts and instead did as Eames had asked. He reached for Ariadne's arm, linked his with hers and steered her toward the mattresses.

"You're letting him get away with this?" Ariadne asked, her voice rising. "Oh, come on, Arthur!" She pushed against his arm and tried to peer around him.

He ignored her and pulled her to sit on the mattresses with him. When she still didn't sit still, he pulled her cap over her eyes and held her arms in position.

"Come on, Arthur, Eames, that isn't fair, you know how curious I am."

"Don't I ever," Eames answered. It sounded heartfelt enough that Arthur had to grin.

"Eaaaaaames," Ariadne wheedled, fought free of Arthur's hold and pushed her cap from her eyes. "Eames, what are you doing, let me -- _oh_!" Ariadne stopped in mid-sentence and, no longer waiting for Eames' word, Arthur turned to see what she was looking at, open-mouthed.

A sea of lights greeted him. Small, flickering spots of warmth.

"It's a fire hazard," Arthur said, weakly, when all he really wanted to do was stare.

Eames had lit what looked like dozens of tealights in the open aisle between the shelves and the check outs. They danced like little stars and Arthur felt something twist just under his heart.

"Eames," Ariadne said, her voice small and full of awe. 

Eames, who had joined them by now, smiled at her, somehow impossibly both proud and embarrassed at the same time.

Arthur looked away from him and back to the candles. It wasn't even all that special, just a few candles, right? But the sentimental value of it, the gentle glow that illuminated their little corner of the otherwise pitch-black supermarket, the touch of kitschy but honest … _beauty_. Something prickled in Arthur's eyes. Damn it. He was going to kill Cobb for waking the Christmas-sentimentality in him all those years ago.

"A fire hazard," Arthur repeated, but even he noticed that the heat was missing. "It'll be the irony of ironies if we burn to death in a snowstorm."

Ariadne swatted his arm. "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch."

Eames regarded him. "Well, he _is_ thin enough for the role."

That sobered Arthur up quickly. He gave Eames the middle finger. "Quit talking and get to bed."

Eames' entire face lit up like a Christmas tree. "And here I thought hell would have to freeze over before I ever heard those words from you."

"Move. Don't make me shoot you."

Eames eyed him with a wariness that was a little insulting. "Please, Arthur, tell me that you did not bring your gun to a family Christmas."

Arthur just raised an eyebrow at him. "Move."

Eames waggled his eyebrows at Ariadne. "Puppy piling?"

"You're next to me. Yusuf's next to Ariadne."

"Rules for puppy piling," Eames stated as he slid underneath the blankets behind Arthur with a lot more production than strictly necessary. "Do you not want me to feel up Ariadne, do you want to do it yourself or do you just want _me_ to yourself?" 

Arthur fought the urge to strangle Eames, but before he could answer, either verbally or physically, Ariadne said, "No one's feeling up any one with hands as cold as ours are."

"That sentence has potential," Eames commented as he slid closer to Arthur, a broad strip of warmth against Arthur's back.

"No, it doesn't."

"Misery guts."

"Perv."

"Could you just shut up and snuggle?" Yusuf commented from the other side of the pile. "It's too cold for bickering."

Surprisingly, Eames actually shut up. For a moment.

The next thing Arthur knew, Eames was leaning up and over him and placed an enthusiastic kiss on Ariadne's forehead. 

She managed to smile and frown at the same time. "What was that for?"

"For singing like an angel earlier."

"You old softie, Eames!" Yusuf commented, his grin just a glint of white teeth by tealight .

"Just for that…" Eames trailed off, hoisted himself even farther over Arthur and placed a sloppy kiss on Yusuf as well.

"Erm."

Arthur pushed against Eames. "Move, you're heavy!"

"Not my fault you eat like a mouse," Eames said but rolled back to his place in the pile.

Arthur waited a couple of seconds, but nothing happened. He felt his mood dropping before he gave himself a mental smack upside the head and chided himself for being disappointed over being the only one to remained unkissed in their group.

Stupid. He closed his eyes.

Really stupid, Arthur.

"You're cute when you pout, darling," Eames said suddenly from above him and before Arthur could open his eyes, he felt Eames' lips touch his nose in a gentle kiss.

Flushing. Arthur was flushing. He was decidedly not _blushing_. And he was decidedly keeping his eyes closed so as not to have to look into Eames' grinning face.

It didn't change that he felt ridiculously vindicated, though.

Once everyone had settled, Ariadne's head was tucked underneath Arthur's chin, Eames was plastered against Arthur's back and Yusuf was draped around Ariadne. They'd stopped shivering by the time Eames stage-whispered, "Aren't you glad we had that chili for dinner? With all those _beans_."

Arthur stiffened. Yusuf groaned. Ariadne giggled helplessly against Arthur's chest. 

Arthur counted to three, contemplated binding and gagging Eames and rolling him somewhere into the middle of the supermarket and leaving him to freeze but decided against it as it was Christmas, and Eames provided a pleasant warmth against his back, a comfortable sense of safety.

He'd never admit it in a million years, but Arthur felt safe and at home in this group of people, more than he ever had with his own family.

So instead of shooting Eames, he reached for Eames' hand, pulled it around his waist so it rested on Ariadne's waist, pulled another blanket over them and said, "You heard Yusuf. Shut up and snuggle."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Long minutes passed. Arthur heard Yusuf snuffle and burrow deeper underneath the blankets. Outside, the wind howled around the building, rattling anything loose and prompting the odd creak and groan from the windows and doors. Ariadne's hair tickled Arthur's nose. Eames spooned around Arthur, warm and comfortable. The candles painted flickering golden hues on Yusuf's and Ariadne's hair.

Maybe it was because it was Christmas. Maybe it was the whiskey Eames had spiked their hot chocolate with earlier. Maybe he was a sentimental damn fool who wanted to take a risk just once. In the end, it didn't matter. Arthur turned his head toward Eames and – against his better judgment – muttered under his breath, "You missed."

Arthur felt rather than heard Eames smile against his neck. "Did I now?" he murmured, his voice rough and warm, amused.

Before Arthur could speak over the sudden heat creeping up from underneath his collar, Ariadne turned to her back. "I'd tell you two to get a room and finally get it on," she said with laughter in her voice," but I'd be freezing my ass of, so... get a room later. And be quiet now."

Arthur opened and closed his mouth like a fish on dry land. The _nerve_. The damn nerve of the woman…

On his second intake of breath, he found himself chorusing with Yusuf and Eames: "Go to sleep, Ariadne."

It was a long time before Arthur felt Ariadne stop chuckling.

***

_Frosty the Snowman_  


Saito asked himself again what had possessed him to accept Cobb's invitation. There must have been some subtle kind of force involved. Something that didn't have anything to do with his lack of company during the so wholly Christian but nevertheless overpoweringly festive season. Something sinister.

Possibly inception.

Nothing about the Cobb family cabin would normally entice him to spend time there. For one, despite being a holiday cottage, it was cluttered. Saito had never had any children, so he had no idea how many toys could litter a floor with a three-year-old and a ten-year-old around.

The thing was, Saito liked clean, clear spaces. Angles. Order. Quiet.

Which was the reason he was out on the porch of the cottage now, watching the snow cover everything with a white, clean, calm cover. Yes, it was cold. No, it didn't matter. Freezing was preferable to Cobb's anxious hovering and James' excited chattering.

The _volume_ alone.

Saito wondered if he should suggest a specialist to Cobb to have James' ears checked. Maybe the boy had trouble hearing.

The door behind him opened and an ear-splitting shriek filtered out, then died. Saito flinched and turned around. Cobb had the door half-open, showing just the hint of a bright red apron with grinning, glittering reindeer on it.

Saito shuddered. It had been that apron more than anything that had driven him to the porch if he was honest. The reindeer's eyes followed him. Wherever Cobb went. Evil, plastic, rolling reindeer eyes.

Saito threw a longing look toward his helicopter. Maybe there still was a chance to leave after all –

"Would you like some cookies?" Cobb asked, holding out a plate with vaguely misshapen Christmas-tree shaped cookies. "Phillippa is done with her first batch."

"What happened to the one you put in the oven when I went outside?" Saito asked. It had been a good twenty-five minutes ago, after all.

Cobb flushed a shade of red that matched his apron. "Let's just say that the smoke alarm works?"

"Was that the smoke alarm earlier?" Saito asked, eyebrows raised.

Cobb frowned at him. "What else? My kids' voices don't reach those decibels."

Saito reached for a cookie. Ate. Chewed. Swallowed. Reached for another. Chewed. Chewed. Swallowed until the urge to say what was on the tip of his tongue had passed.

Cobb squinted at him.

"Very good!" Saito said, but choked on a crumb and started to cough long and loud enough that Cobb closed the door, abandoning him with a sniff. The smell of burnt cookies lingered outside until it was swept away by a fresh gut of wind.

The world outside was white and stayed white, bright despite the darkening evening. Until the snow let up, Saito knew he was trapped here; no chance of fleeing undetected in the helicopter. And there was no news of Arthur, Eames, Ariadne and Yusuf either. The last the tracker he'd put on Ariadne's phone had shown him was that they had come more than half-way. However, they hadn't moved since then.

A long break, maybe. Some peace and quiet. It sounded like a marvelous idea.

It was time for some meditation.

Inside, something crashed to the floor, Cobb cursed, and James started to wail at an ear-splitting volume.

Time for a very, very deep, very long meditation.

Cold was good for the complexion.

***

Yusuf's voice accompanied by Ariadne's body going tense as a bowstring woke Arthur with a start.

"I have a bad feeling about this. And don't try to tell me this is an overweight Santa trying to find the chimney out there."

After fighting the initial disorientation, Arthur realized just what Yusuf meant: The roof above them was groaning at an alarming volume.

Arthur looked up at the dark ceiling with a frown. Hopefully, the wind would blow some of the snow off the roof instead of piling more up there or, he realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach, they might not live to see the morning quite as comfortably should the roof collapse under the snow.

"They build these things sturdy up here," Ariadne said. Arthur felt her give Yusuf's arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Statistics prove you wrong."

There was a sound like teeth being bared; Ariadne must have smiled wide. "Ah, but, like you, Yusuf, I only trust statistics I fake myself."

Arthur smiled with her, surprised to read between the lines that she must have spent a lot more time working off the legal grid than he'd thought.

"We're close to the outside wall for a reason, Yusuf."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yes," came Eames' sleep-gruff voice, bringing a puff of pleasantly warm air to Arthur's neck. Eames stretched a little, then moved closer to Arthur. "You can either sing or shut up and go to sleep, but you're not to make the children nervous, Yusuf."

"Easy for you to say."

Eames heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. Arthur heard the scratching noise of skin against unshaven skin. "Remember who made us set up camp in this precise spot?"

"Arthur."

"Precisely. And when have you ever seen Arthur not having planned something through to the n-th degree? Have you ever been let down by Arthur?"

There was a slight pause. "Never," Yusuf answered.

"I rest my case," Eames said, slung his arm back over Arthur's and Ariadne's waists and pushed his face into the crook of Arthur's neck. He was breathing slow and even within minutes again.

After a little grumbling and a lot of shifting around from Yusuf's side of the pile, Ariadne threatened bodily harm, clamped her arm around Yusuf and made him lie still. It didn't take long for them both to relax into sleep.

Only Arthur lay awake for some time after that; his face ridiculously warm and his heart having grown three sizes.

Stupid Christmas sentimentality.

The wind howled louder, the roof groaned und the weight of the snow, and, somehow, as Arthur listened to their breathing in the gentle rhythm of sleep, he realised that he had never felt safer in his life.

***

By ten p.m., Cobb's children had calmed down with the aid of some hot milk with honey and Saito reading from a large book Cobb had thrust at him. Andersen's _Snow Queen_. Cobb had raised a meaningful eyebrow at him which answered the question of whether or not the book's choice had been coincidental.

Cobb didn't believe in coincidences, no more than Saito himself did.

In the beginning, it had been a little hard to ignore the incessant questioning from both children, but after a while, they relaxed into the couch, stared into the fire and simply listened while Cobb prepared dinner in the kitchen.

Much to Saito's horror, Phillippa and James took up their positions to his left and right, leaning against him as they listened. Which meant that after several pages, James was asleep, pressed against Saito's side and drooling onto his cashmere pullover.

Saito stopped reading and Phillippa started. She threw him a questioning glance that reminded Saito very much of the pictures of Mal Cobb he had seen, then peered around Saito and grinned.

"You need to stay still or he'll wake up," she informed him.

Saito bit back on an undignified groan.

"Just for half an hour or so. If he hasn't woken up again by then, he'll sleep through the night."

Saito relaxed a little. Half an hour was manageable.

"You know, unless he pukes out all the cookie dough he ate earlier."

Saito stiffened again.

"She's pulling your leg, Saito," Cobb called softly from the kitchen.

Phillippa was looking at him with a perfectly straight face, which could mean only one of two things: Either she _was_ pulling his leg and had a scarily perfect poker-face, or she was serious and Cobb was having him on. He wasn't sure which option he found less appealing.

They listened to the crackling hiss of the dry wood Cobb had put on the fire earlier until Phillippa asked, "Uncle Arthur's not here yet. I hope he's all right."

"I'm sure he is," Saito said, not taking his eyes off the fire.

"He's never been late for Christmas before," she said, then amended, "Not when he celebrated with us, at least."

"He hasn't called you either, has he?" Cobb stood next to the sofa now, drying his hands on a white towel decorated with red snowflakes. 

Saito shook his head.

"Any of the others?"

Saito shook his head again.

"It's not like Arthur not to call."

"Have you tried calling him?"

"Goes directly to voicemail."

"Eames? Ariadne? Yusuf?"

"Voicemail again and currently unavailable for the latter two."

"But they are all right, aren't they?" Phillippa asked. "Dad has told me about Miss Ariadne, I really want to meet her. She sounds cool."

"I'm sure they are, Flip," Cobb said and ran his hand over his daughter's hair.

"But you don't know?"

Smart child. 

Cobb heaved a sigh. "No, I don't."

Saito shifted a little to get at his trouser pocket. "I do," he said once he'd fished it out without dislodging James.

"You do?" Phillippa asked, excited.

"You do?" Cobb echoed her, only less excited and more suspicious.

"I protect my investments," Saito said with a shrug.

"Meaning exactly what?"

Saito opened an app on his phone and was greeted by four pulsing green dots. He held out the phone to Cobb. "There. All present and accounted for."

Cobb reached for the phone and ignored Phillippa's indignant squawk. "You …" Cobb began. He stopped, cleared his throat and tried again. Somehow, he looked a little constipated. His face had taken on an odd pallor. "You track their lifesigns?"

"All of yours, yes," Saito answered. It wasn't what science fiction would call a lifesigns detector. He simply had all five of them microchipped when they were on the plane. The chips ran on body electricity, which meant that he could both find out where they were and whether or not they were alive. Nothing more, but nothing less as well.

"Cool!" Phillippa said.

"Erm," said Cobb.

Saito met his shocked gaze and shrugged. "Are you not feeling well, Mr. Cobb?"

Cobb visibly shook himself. "No, fine, I'm… I'm just fine."

Saito smiled at him, the smile that a reporter had once described as wolfish. He noted with some pleasure that Cobb paled even more and took a step back. Excellent. That way, Saito was sure he'd sleep undisturbed tonight and wouldn't be entrusted with James any longer. And in the morning…

"So where are they?" Phillippa's question interrupted his thoughts of a peaceful slumber.

Saito checked his phone before he answered, "Just a little over fifty miles away from here. I suspect the snowstorm halted their journey somewhat."

"Poor uncle Arthur." Phillippa heaved a sigh. She stared at the fire for a long time while Cobb ran his hand over her head over and over again in a soothing caress. "It's too bad that Santa Claus can't come and pick them all up," she said, stifling a yawn. "I'm sure the reindeer would have no troubles getting through the snow. They're used to it."

"You can make a wish for a Christmas miracle, Flip," Cobb murmured. "Christmas Night is a magical night after all."

Saito saw Phillippa smile from the corner of his eyes, saw her clasp her hands closely and mumble something under her breath that he didn't catch. A log sank into the fire with a sparking hiss, distracting Saito. When he looked at Phillippa next, her eyes were closed and she was asleep, her head resting against Cobb's thigh.

"What did she wish for?" Saito asked, softly so as to not wake her.

"A flying sleigh."

***

_Walking in a Winter Wonderland with Jingle Bells_  


Eames woke up to a frightfully cold nose, a very warm side, and a hellish noise. Bright panic clawed at him for a few seconds before he realised that the sound was not that of the roof collapsing.

Next to him, Arthur, Ariadne and Yusuf had woken with a start as well.

"What the hell is that?" Arthur asked as he threw back the blanket. Cold air hit Eames, making him shiver.

"Is it coming from outside?" Yusuf asked, nervously checking the ceiling.

Ariadne kicked back the blankets as well and faced them all with an expectant gleam in her eyes. "Could it be a snowplow?"

Eames heaved a sigh. They were all such beginners. "Yes, it's coming from outside, as it's too big to fit in here, and, no, it's not a snow-plow."

"Then what -- ?"

"I suggest we go and have a look what Santa Claus brought us for Christmas morning." He checked his watch and winced. "Really early Christmas morning." It was four thirty a.m..

Ariadne jogged ahead with the excitement of a young puppy – albeit one lighting the way with a torch -, making it hard for the others to keep up.

It took them a while to get the staff-entrance door open again – it had frozen shut and took some serious rattling, pulling and eventually, the aid of de-icer spray to cooperate.

The door opened to the inside so an avalanche of powdery snow greeted them. Ariadne and Yusuf were dusted in white within seconds.

Eames, who had managed to hide behind the door when he realised what was about to happen sniggered at her indignant face and at Yusuf's way of shaking the snow off like a put-out dog.

The noise was much worse out there, a deafening and unmistakable mixture of a high whirring and a chap-chap-chap. 

"Can you see anything?" Yusuf yelled at Ariadne.

Eames winked at Arthur and let Ariadne and Yusuf figure it out for themselves. 

"There's light," she yelled back. "There's a light in the sky."

A light that soon bathed her in xenon brightness and outlined her and Yusuf in silhouette perfection.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked, turning back around to face Eames.

Next to Eames, Arthur grinned at her. "What do _you_ think it is?"

Snow was whirling around her as the light came closer. "Is that a helicopter?" she yelled.

Arthur wiped snow out of his eyes and pulled his cap tighter over his ears. "Looks like Santa Claus is going with the times."

The helicopter hovered long enough that the rotors blew away enough snow to clear a small landing patch, which in turn made all four of them seek refuge behind the door. The wind was biting and Ariadne shivered openly by the time the helicopter touched down. Whether the shakes were from cold or excitement, Eames couldn't tell.

What he recognised, though, was the sound of a helicopter door opening.

"Go on, pet," he said, pushing her out from behind the door. "Say hi to Santa."

Arthur peered around the door, then looked back at Eames. "The length of the name is correct. Two different letters, though."

"Saito!" Eames heard Ariadne's excited squeak.

He held Yusuf back to give Saito the time to get through the inevitable exuberant hug with his dignity intact. After a minute, they all walked out toward the helicopter.

"We strive to do the impossible before night-time, but miracles take a bit longer," Saito informed them. "Would you care for a lift?"

Eames had never been so happy to see a person in his life.

***

_Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_  


"You can't be serious, Yusuf," Arthur's voice came from the end of their little single file march toward the warm glow of the cabin's windows. To their left and right the snow piled high. Someone had shoveled a single file path through the drift though.

"What?" Yusuf's voice was hurt. "Saito gave me the thermos. So I had coffee on the helicopter. It's a diuretic."

Arthur and Eames gave an almighty groan in perfect unison.

"Ariadne, pet, can you walk a little faster? We wouldn't want to have yellow snow on Christmas."

"Too much information!" Ariadne yelled back with a laugh but walked faster. She was ready to get out of the snow and the cold anyway. The puppy pile had been a good idea, but that hadn't stopped her from getting a cold nose and cold feet.

It was still dark, but the kind of dark that had already given way to a dark blue, heralding dawn. Unbelievable that they'd still make it for Christmas morning. She grinned to herself. Not really so unbelievable knowing that Cobb had invited Saito.

As she was taking point, she reached the porch first where she stomped her feet to get rid of the clumps of snow and waited for the others to catch up with her. The windows let the golden glow of a flickering firelight filter out.

"Do you want to go first, Arthur?" she asked when they'd all reached her and stomped their feet as well.

"Yeah," Arthur answered with a grateful smile. "Yeah, I would."

When Arthur opened the door and walked inside, Ariadne heard nothing, then a trip-trap noise, then a squeal and an undignified, " _Oof._ "

"UNCLE ARTHUR!"

Ariadne turned toward Eames, Yusuf and Saito and gave them a face-splitting grin. "I think the kids are up."

"As is the rest of the world now," Saito mumbled into his scarf.

Ariadne pushed into the room and was immediately met by the warm scents of wood burning in an open fireplace, as well as the remnants of baked apples and burnt cookies.

On the ground before her sat Arthur, two children clinging to him and talking a mile a minute. Ariadne realised that she had never before seen Arthur smile as wide and as carefree as he was for Cobb's kids.

Behind Arthur, Cobb appeared from a corridor. He wore reindeer pajamas and his hair stuck up in all directions.

"Hi?"

"Hello, it's nice to see you, Merry Christmas," Yusuf said, rapid-fire. "Where's the bathroom?" 

Cobb blinked at him for a second, obviously still half-asleep, then pointed behind him.

"Thank you!" Yusuf said and dashed past Cobb with admirable speed.

"Morning, Dom," Eames said. "And merry Christmas."

Cobb blinked at Eames, then his gaze travelled up and halted at the trapper hat. He gave a silent shudder.

Ariadne decided to have mercy on him. She walked up to him, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Merry Christmas, Dom. How about I make some coffee?"

In the center of the living room, the girl -- Phillippa, Ariadne thought -- let go of Arthur and walked up to Saito. "Did you – "

Ariadne saw Saito put on a perfect poker-face. "Give Santa Claus their coordinates?"

Phillippa nodded.

"I did," Saito said in a grave and serious voice.

Phillippa's eyes grew round. "You have Santa's telephone number?"

"Not quite like that." Saito walked toward the sofa and reached for a cookie that rested on a plate with a glass of milk sitting next to it.

While he sat down and chewed, staring into the fire, Phillippa gasped. She walked over to her father, pulled at his sleeve and pointed at Saito.

Dom shook himself; he looked like he was finally waking from his daze. He put on a poker face and put his index finger over his lips in a shushing gesture. "Don't tell your brother."

Ariadne met Eames in the kitchen. He'd shed his jacket and hat and gloves and was stealing cookies. She pointed toward the living room where Phillippa was still staring at Saito in awe.

Eames bumped his hip against hers. "Bit of a grumpy Santa," he said, "but it works for me."

Ariadne chuckled and went to put on the coffee maker.

***

After Arthur had made hot chocolate for the kids and Ariadne had handed out steaming mugs of coffee, the kids received their presents.

In a storm of ripped paper and squeals, the best present turned out to be several Lego sets.

"So predictable," Eames rolled his eyes.

"Well, oh Master of present-giving, where are our presents, then?"

"Lost in the supermarket, I'm afraid."

"You're just trying to get out of it cheap."

"Oh, am I?"

"Here I thought I saw you carry a bag to the helicopter earlier," Ariadne said with a wink.

"Ah… oh. Yes, I completely forgot." Eames smiled. "Saito, can you give me the helicopter keys, and Arthur, can you come and help me carry?"

Ariadne was distracted from the continued discussion by James and Phillippa dragging her to a mound of Lego bricks in front of the fire.

"Architects never get a day off," she commented with a smile before she rolled up her sleeves and built the city of Atlantis with them.

Half an hour later, when she looked up next, Arthur and Eames still weren't back. Yusuf, Cobb and Saito were in the kitchen, deep in conversation. No one seemed to be missing the two men.

Frowning, Ariadne padded toward the outside door on socked feet and opened the door a little.

Oh. _Oh_.

Ariadne closed the door to the porch with a grin.

It looked like Eames hadn't missed this time.

The End


End file.
